Less Complicated
by BleedingTwilight
Summary: One shot Short fic about why Tristan chooses his hawk over the company of others.


Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters and am not profiting from this in any way except for the sheer enjoyment of writing.

A/N: Well, this is my first KA fic, so please be kind. I'm really not used to people reading my stuff, but I love this fandom and wanted to contribute something. So please read and review!

Less Complicated

The outdoor tavern bustled with activity. Romans, Sarmatians, and Britons all drank and laughed in the open courtyard. Officers attempted and failed to coax young barmaids into their laps for, as most young women around the fort, they flocked to the knights. Other men gambled while others still, drown a hard day's events in pitcher after pitcher of ale.

The knights sat round a small table in the center of the crowd proving to be the loudest and most obnoxious of all the patrons. The two youngest knights threw knives off to the side, their aim digressing as they ingested more and more ale. The womanizing Lancelot sat contentedly with a girl place on each leg while he gibed at Bors. Bors, himself, was far too inebriated to realize that Lancelot had just slung yet another insult at him as he wrapped his large arms around his lover while she begrudgingly poured him another mug. Even Arthur and Dagonet laughed and joked as they also became drunker and drunker, the former from seeing his men so joyful and the latter solely from alcohol.

At the end of the table sat a lone dark figure, which had yet to finish his first pint of ale while the others were well on their way toward a half dozen and in Bors' case probably beyond that. The silent figure seemed to be asleep, for he had not raised his eyes since he sat down an hour earlier. All the others seemed to accept or ignore his silent presence. That was until Lancelot was tired of Bors and decided to move on in his irritating of is fellow knights.

"Tristan, why so glum? Isn't there a girl who will warm your lap, or have you scared them all away?" Lancelot jested as he studied the knight three seats down from him. Tristan did not seem to move a muscle as he was so "gently" addressed by Lancelot. "Come now, Tristan. I know you are listening to me. When did you last have a pretty thing such as these fine maidens warm your bed?" Lancelot said as he gestured to the two women on his lap.

All of the knights immediately ceased their joking and were now focusing all of their attention on Lancelot as he harassed their most feared brother. All the knights loved Tristan like a kin, but none knew how he would take Lancelot's jokes, especially in the mood he had been in as of late. Arthur leaned over to his best friend and warned him sternly hoping to stop Lancelot from continuing, but just as all of the times previous, Lancelot continued without a second thought.

"Has it been so long, that you cannot remember?" He shot, hoping for at least a twitch to indicate that Tristan was indeed awake.

"Leave him be, Lancelot, he's been scouting for the past three days. He needs to relax, not be harassed," interrupted Gawain, after seeing the near imperceptible tensing of Tristan's shoulders as result of the last comment.

"Exactly what I was thinking. He needs a woman to help him relax, isn't that right Tristan?"

Suddenly Tristan's lolling head shot up and two sets of golden eyes met. All of the surrounding patrons and knights were shocked into silence at Tristan's lightning speed. The two gazed at each other for a moment asking the mental question as to whether the other was alright. A bond thicker than blood and stronger than armor connected the two even though the courtyard separated them. They regarded each other for but another moment before as noncommittally as possible they both moved. Tristan raised his gloved hand as the large hawk glided over the patrons and gracefully landed atop it.

Upon landing the hawk lovingly nipped at silent knights uneven braids as the scout ran a graceful finger down her breast in a calming fashion. Their golden orbs met again and the bird made a contented clicking sound as Tristan mumbled imperceptible endearments. They both seemed to understand the other perfectly for as suddenly as the bird appear, it was sailing away toward the tree outside the knights quarters and Tristan's head was back to lolling over his chest.

No one truly knew what had just happened, but Galahad was the only on curious or maybe foolish enough to ask, "What just happened?"

With a bit of a grunt, Tristan spoke with a lilting accent that only he still possessed, possibly because he never spoke enough to rid himself of it. "Thick clouds, checking in." To Tristan, this clipped and jumbled answer must have explained the entire situation, but for the others it was just more confusing.

"What?" Galahad asked again rather sheepishly.

Tristan actually offered a less cryptic reply to the young knight, for a reason he didn't even know. "She hunts at night but since there are very thick clouds, she can easily get lost. She was simply checking in so I would not go looking for her," he said plainly and emotionlessly. Galahad made a sound that seemed like an 'oh,' but it was anyone's guess.

Lancelot, however, took this as just kindling for his already blazing fire. "Only you, Tristan, would choose a bird, a blood thirsty one at that, in place of a beautiful wench. Why?" he said incredulously.

"Less trouble," was all the laconic knight said as he rose and followed the invisible trail his true soul mate had just left him. Once again leaving all of the knights in silence, contemplating what he had just said, until Bors began to laugh.

"Gods the boy's got a point, that silly bird can't possibly be as much trouble as your wenches Lancelot, or my Van, and 5 bastards," Bors continued to laugh.

"7 bastards, and their not all yours," was Lancelot's sulky reply at being bested once again by Tristan's wit. All Lancelot received for his new gibe was a slap to the back of the head from Vanora as she passed him with a tray in her hand.


End file.
